


our frankly loveless generation

by ninkybean



Category: Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, but she doesn’t know it yet, lizzie is a feminist icon, plus jane and bingley are disgustingly in love, with a penchant for tall snobby men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:03:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninkybean/pseuds/ninkybean
Summary: Elizabeth thinks that Darcy is a snob who loves himself a little bit too much.And she’s going on a lovely little summer holiday to the Lake District with him.All logic gone out the window. Irony enters swiftly in.





	1. a plagued existence

Elizabeth Bennet is in no way, not at all, none whatsoever, a weak woman. She is categorically well known for being quite the opposite, actually. When Collins was harassing both her and Jane, who told him to get lost once for all? Lizzie. When Lydia was falling head first for that scumbag Wickham, who snapped her out of it? Lizzie. And when Jane managed to sprain her ankle and get trapped in a blizzard at Charles’ house, who trudged through the raging snow to rescue her from the vulture that is Caroline Bingley? Lizzie did.

No, Lizzie prides herself on being assuredly strong. Everyone around her comes to her when they need honest advice, or someone to blackmail a conniving ex boyfriend, or just punch someone in the throat. There’s just one obstacle standing in her way on her journey to becoming the single, independent and powerful woman she’s destined to become.

Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Darcy, or ‘Fitz’ as she so affectionately calls him (just to wind him up), is so irking and smug and handsome that it makes Lizzie want to scream. She first met him at a charity gala that Jane, being the completely selfless angel she is, organised in aid of orphaned chimpanzees (or something, Lizzie always gets too drunk at these things to remember). He stood there, stoically judging every little peasant that came into his peripheral vision, and he called Lizzie  _not that fit_ whilst she stood mere metres away from him. Now Lizzie knows that she isn’t as beautiful as Jane, but maybe standing in the shadow of Jane for her whole life meant that that comment hurt her pride a little bit, seeing as it came from one sour, but handsome, stranger. In a later altercation that night Lizzie had handed his arse to him on a plate when he asked her, a mocking tone to his voice, _what inspires love then, if you’re an expert, in our frankly loveless generation?_ To whichLizzie replied _: a bit of dancing does the trick, I find, even if your dancing partner is ‘not that fit’._ He blinked once, studied his drink intently for a second, and asked to be excused another second later. _Victory,_ Lizziesmirked to herself.

Darcy has plagued her existence ever since. Every time they meet, she feels her pride bubbling up inside her which means she can never be the bigger person in their arguments, ever, and Darcy revels in it. And plus, she has to strain her neck so hard just to look into his very deep and piercing eyes that she’s not sure how much longer she can keep this up. Unless she invests in a personal masseuse.

She’s too prideful to admit that he was right about Wickham, that he _is_ and _was_ nob and that she’s sorry for ever doubting him. She still kicks herself for that. They were standing outside a pub, Bingley having dragged both of them there, when Darcy revealed to her the history he, and his sister Georgie, had with Wickham. When Darcy told her that Wickham had basically jumped on her at a party and it was pure luck that Darcy managed to find her in time Lizzie felt sick to her stomach. And her little sister thought herself in love with the twat! To be honest, Lizzie credits Darcy for saving Lydia from that relationship, having only just found out that Darcy knocked on Wickham’s door one night and told him that if he didn’t make himself scarce his little sister and himself would be pressing charges for assault. It meant that even if he didn’t go to prison he would damn sure lose his job as some second rate television presenter for some day time telly show. Between that and Lizzie telling Lydia to put on her big girl pants and tell that boy to go and fuck himself, Lizzie thinks that she may be the female incarnation of Jeremy Kyle.

Darcy is a snobby as Lizzie is hot tempered. He always looks down on her family whether he admits it or not, and he even broke up Jane and Charles for a bit because he thought that Jane was a gold digger. Jane! Darling Jane, who cried when her cat killed a bird, and then cried harder because she felt bad for shouting at her cat. As if Jane was after Charles for his money. Lizzie was still seething about that. Luckily, Jane and Charles were much too in love to let Darcy’s meddling get in their way, and with some careful prompting from Lizzie and a reluctant Darcy they got back together in no time. And Lizzie had an excuse to kick Darcy in the shin. Darcy had apologised after that, and Lizzie accepted it because she found there wasn’t much else to do when she was staring into his eyes that were nothing but sincere. But Lizzie would _never_  tell him that. 

One day, Lizzie is idly hanging around Charles’ house on a hot saturday in July when he suggests they all take a trip up to his family’s cottage in the Lake District. Because of course Charles has a cottage in the Lake District. Lizzie readily agrees; she’s been dying to get out of London since her friend Emma announced her engagement to George and Lizzie has been wallowing in her loneliness for the majority of the summer thus far. Jane agrees next, needing to take some time off from writing her dissertation and Darcy is next to follow suit because his aunt is coming to town and he needs an excuse not to have to see her. So it’s decided: the four will head off to the Lake District for a couple of days and Lizzie will try not to choke slam Darcy when he ultimately says something that will have her reeling. She’ll also try not to throw up a little in her mouth when she sees Jane and Charles being so sickeningly in love. Seems like Lizzie’s loneliness is bound to follow her wherever she goes. Oh, and Fitzwilliam Darcy. 


	2. woahhhh woahhh woah, mysterious girl

“Dearest Fitz, will you please move your suitcase from my thighs because I’m starting to think the weight of the _elephant_ you’ve apparently packed in here is going to cause my bones to collapse.” Lizzie says through gritted teeth.

”Of course, darling Elizabeth, but only if you remove your 5 pairs of converse from next to my head. Why you’ve packed them on top of everything here I don’t know but I’m starting to think the stench of them is going to give me an aneurysm.” Darcy replies with equal mockery lacing his words. 

“The stench! Sorry, but I’m having trouble keeping away from the foul odour of your superiority complex every time you open your mouth.”

Darcy remains silent. Lizzie thinks she may have hit a nerve. So she hesitantly moves her five pairs of converse from next to Darcy’s head, stacked on top of food supplies and suitcases and boxes of vinyls for Charles’ record player. Darcy glances at her, and a smile briefly meets his lips but only for a split second. Great. Now Lizzie feels bad.

At that moment, Jane and Charles clamber into the drivers seat and the passengers seat of Charles’ minivan. “Right then,” Charles beams to Jane, “Off we go.”

They have a 5 hour drive ahead of them, with Jane commandeering the road trip playlist. Lizzie knows that means 5 hours of classic Disney hits, but she has no cause to complain, because Darcy seems to hate it just as much as she does. Which means it’s worth it. Between them is a mountain of luggage but Lizzie can see Darcy’s eyes over all the stuff squeezed between them and when she looks, they seem preoccupied with something. He’s gazing at the back of Jane’s head but not really looking. His mind is definitely somewhere else. Lizzie wonders where. 

By hour two Charles calls time on the Disney classics, stating “Jane, I love you and I love how you love Disney, but there’s only so much a man can take.” Lizzie is put in charge of the music, and soon the drum beat of David Bowie’s Modern Love is bouncing through the car. Lizzie watches Darcy’s eyes light up.

”Hey,” he says in a light tone, “my dad used to play this record all the time.” 

Lizzie feels satisfied she’s amended things for her earlier slip up that left her feeling more guilty than she would have expected. “Your dad has great taste in music.” She responds.

Darcy smiles at that. “Yeah, he really did. I would be in his study and he would move all the papers off of his desk, stand me up on it and dance with me to all of his favourite songs from when he was a kid. It was the only time I ever really saw him relax, to be honest. What with my mum, and-“ He stops himself. “Well. Best not to get into it.”

Lizzie frowns, and looks towards Jane and Charles who are busy singing Love is an Open Door to each other. Jane had stolen back playlist duty, and a) Lizzie hadn’t noticed - weird and b) Charles had let her - less weird. She turns back to Darcy. “It’s okay,” she says to him, her voice coming out way softer than she intended, “You can tell me.”

Darcy looks at her then, really looks, brows furrowed. Some cogs seem to be turning in his mind, and then he turns back around so that he isn’t looking at her anymore. “My mum got really sick after she had Georgiana. Then she died, and my dad was never the same after that. That’s all there is to it, really.” 

Lizzie is startled, and not because of what Darcy is telling her. He’s being open with her? Fitzwilliam Darcy is actually opening up to Elizabeth Bennet, instead of dropping a monotone one liner and pretending she doesn’t exist? Lizzie isn’t sure how to react.

”I’m sorry, Darcy.” Lizzie says, sincerely. “That’s a bit shit.”

Darcy snorts. “Yeah. It is a bit.” 

Lizzie thinks that must be it. Best not to prod him anymore, she thinks to herself. Probably like prodding a grizzly bear.

”My mum’s favourite song is Mysterious Girl by Peter Andre.”

”An absolute classic.”

”You should hear her singing it.”

”You haven’t heard anything till you’ve heard Georgie singing The Climb at the top of her lungs.”

Lizzie whistles. “That sounds like art.”

”It really is. Like watching a penguin trying to fly.”

”How’s that?”

”She flaps her arms when she sings.”

Lizzie bursts out laughing. “I hope you tell her that she’s the best singer you’ve ever heard. That girl is the purest thing to walk this earth.”

”Don’t worry. She has all my assurances that if she ever wanted to go on X Factor she would have my full support.”

“Mine too. I would be behind her ready to kick Simon Cowell in the very high waisted trouser region if he said one bad word against her.”

”I have no doubt about that, Lizzie.” Darcy grins.

Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy, not only opening up but also getting along? Maybe this trip won’t be as bad as expected, thinks Lizzie.

That very moment, Charles hits a bump in the road sending Lizzie’s open bottle of diet coke flying into Darcy’s lap.

”For fuck’s sake, Lizzie!”

Or maybe not.

 


	3. a protruding fuck you

The very second Lizzie scrambles out of the car, she stretches like cat, bending and contorting the aches out of her bones. The 5 hour trip had felt more like 5 days, and being sat next to Darcy for all of it hadn’t exactly helped. She had felt antsy for most of the trip. Kind of like having a pair of eyes on you, all the time.

Those eyes are staring at her now, she realises. She’s wearing a top that when she stretches uncovers the slightest piece of her stomach, and it’s that specific place on her body that Darcy has honed his eyes on to now. Not that he realises, and when he does his eyes go wide and he coughs, all while turning himself around to grab a bag out of the car in one big awkward swivel. Lizzie can’t help but watch him, laughter rising up in her chest. She swallows it though, realising herself that having Darcy’s eyes on her isn’t so funny after all. In a quick moment, Darcy swiftly picks up one of Lizzie’s shoes and chucks it at her. Lizzie, brain preoccupied with thoughts of the shoe-thrower, gets hit in the face by said shoe. Now it’s Darcy’s turn to laugh at her, but with one glare in his direction his laughter is quickly swallowed too.

Lizzie turns her attention towards the cottage. It’s quaint, but Charles’ family owns like 10 of these things all over the UK and another 5 in Europe so Lizzie doesn’t really have room to be penalising it’s size. She walks in, bags in hand, and feels Darcy come up beside her. The living room offers a small sofa, with an open kitchen leading out into the ‘garden’: AKA, the rest of the whole bloody Lake District. There’s three other doors, and with no bathroom in sight Lizzie assumes that one of the doors leads to just that, with the other two...

“There’s only two bedrooms.” Lizzie hears Charles say. Jane is tucked up next to him. “Me and Darcy can share...” He offers, but Lizzie can tell that he really wants to have time with Jane this weekend.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” Lizzie says firmly, glancing at it. It looks comfy. She won’t mind.

Darcy frowns at that. “No, I’ll sleep on the sofa. You take the bed.”

“Don’t be stupid, Fitz.” Lizzie points at the sofa exasperatedly. “You’re about three feet too tall to sleep on this. I’m sleeping on it.”

“Don’t emasculate me, Elizabeth. I’ll do the gentlemanly thing and sleep on it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot we had travelled back to the 1700’s. Take your head out of your archaic arsehole and let me sleep on the bloody sofa!” She exclaims.

“If you think you’re sleeping on the bed you’ve got another thing coming.” Darcy replies, and with that he leaps on the sofa. The legs snap into two, and the sofa crumbles beneath him. Darcy lands on the floor, a heap of sofa cushions smothering him.

Lizzie slow claps. “Well _done_ Fitz! Looks like neither of us will be sleeping on the sofa now.”

Darcy’s middle finger protrudes from the pile he’s in. 

Lizzie sweeps by him to dump her stuff in the bedroom, taking note of the double bed that is situated in the middle of the room. It’s only a bit bigger than the sofa both in width and length, but before Lizzie has any time to fret about that, Darcy is dumping his stuff by the foot of the bed too. He is quiet for a moment before he says: “I sleep on the left hand side.” And leaves the room. 

Jane is stocking the fridge, Charles is playing with some sort of tennis racket toy with a ball attached (he’s easily entertained) and Darcy is sat at the breakfast table, twirling his phone around in his hands. 

“There’s no wifi here. Or any signal at all. We’re stranded.” He says forlornly, casting his phone one last glance before tossing it to the side. “It’s so hot, my phone is useless, and all my work is currently piling on to my desk as we speak.”

”Well, I think me and Charles are going to go out on a little hike, if you’d like to join?” Jane pipes up from the fridge.

“Maybe tomorrow.”

”Alright. I’m all set here. Shall we?” Jane takes Charles’ arm and with that, the two of them are gone. Lizzie and Darcy are left alone. 

Silence fills the air. Lizzie can’t place whether it’s awkward or simply comfortable with an edge, because she finds herself torn between third wheeling Jane and Charles’ hike and coaxing more soft words out of Darcy’s mouth. She opts for the latter, because really, she’s now got to share a bed with the man. 

Lizzie pulls two beers out of the fridge, offering one to Darcy who takes it with a small smile. “Watch this,” Lizzie smirks, before placing the beer bottle between her teeth and pulling. The cap comes off in one deft movement. Darcy looks almost impressed.

”Well that was unexpected.” Darcy laughs.

”There’s lots of things you don’t know about me, Fitz.” Lizzie replies, words full of mirth.

“Oh yeah?” Darcy retorts, “like what?”

”I watch one episode of the Simpsons everyday.”

”Why would you do that?” Darcy is appalled. Time is money for him.

”Because it makes me happy. That’s why. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

”I love bath bombs. They’re my secret obsession.”

”If you don’t like bath bombs, you’re criminal. Bath bombs are mans single greatest invention.”

”Right?!” Darcy agrees. “They make your skin so soft, and they’re so relaxing! Georgie laughs at me because I have so many stocked up in the cupboard and I always drag her to Lush when we’re shopping but they just smell so goo-“ Darcy stops himself when he sees Lizzie looking at him with laughter in her eyes. “Oh, laugh all you want, but bath bombs make _me_ happy, so shut up.”

”Alright, alright. You’re right. We shouldn’t laugh at what makes other people happy. Unless it’s killing other people. Then we definitely shouldn’t laugh. We should tell the police.” 

“You have strong knowledge of the legal system Lizzie. You should come work under me.”

”Work under you?” Lizzie replies, one eyebrow raised.

Darcy splutters. “Obviously, not like that. I meant work for-“

”I know what you meant.” Lizzie interrupts him before the man gives himself an aneurysm. “But I would never work _for_ you. Only with you.” 

“So you’d work with me? Bold of you to assume that I would work with you.”

”Maybe we’d make a good team.”

”Maybe we would.” Darcy retorts, and Lizzie isn’t sure what they’re talking about anymore. She finds herself looking towards the bedroom.

“If you’re really unhappy about our sleeping arrangements, I can sleep on the hammock outside. I’ll probably get bit to death by bugs, but at least I’ll die knowing that my grandmother won’t tell me off in heaven for not treating a young lady with respect.” 

“It’s fine. Just please tell me you don’t kick in your sleep.”

”I don’t. But I’ve been told I sleep talk.”

”Great! That’s not creepy at all.”

”Yeah, usually I recite Shakespeare.”

”Of course the one thing in your subconscious is Shakespeare.”

Darcy is quiet for a moment, like he’s thinking about something. “That’s not the only thing there.” He says, softly.

“What?” Lizzie enquires.

”There’s something else I always talk about too. Please tell me you’re a heavy sleeper.”

”I’m dead to the world as soon as my head touches the pillow.”

Darcy nods. “Then I reckon we’re going to be okay.”

Lizzie can only hope. 


	4. missing pieces

"That was fucking delicious, Charles." Lizzie says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"What lovely table manners you have, Elizabeth." Darcy says, drily. He moves to take his plate to the sink, and with a small pause, takes Lizzie's as well. He stoically picks up the sponge and wipes the dish with a circular motion. Lizzie is very strangely touched. 

Charles beams at Lizzie, fingers interlaced with Jane's. "Thanks Lizzie." He kisses the back of Jane's hand. "This one doesn't seem to mind my cooking, either."

Jane rolls her eyes, but there's laughter in them too. "You know I'm sensitive about the fact you're a better cook than I am."

"But you're better at everything else than me. So let me have this."

Jane just smiles. Lizzie watches the two of them, their natural harmony. Charles brings out a more confident side of Jane, and Lizzie is so thankful for it. For so long Jane has struggled with anxiety, and for so long Lizzie was Jane's rock, her confidante. Now with Charles around, Lizzie thinks that maybe Jane will be alright without her. There's a sadness in that, but Lizzie is so excited for Jane and Charles' future that she hasn't got time to be sad.

Lost in happy thoughts, Lizzie's eyes wander around the room until they meet with Darcy. He's watching Jane and Charles too, a smile playing on his lips. Darcy slowly raises his gaze to meet Lizzie's and they stay there, frozen. A breath reaches Lizzie's lips, but it's stuck as she looks at Darcy. Lizzie has no idea what is happening. It feels like looking at Darcy now is rather like a key fitting into a lock. He's the first to look away, his eyes now flitting about as they have nothing to focus on anymore, and Lizzie finally heaves the sigh that was trapped before. What the fuck just happened? 

Lizzie wraps a cardigan around her shoulders and steps outside. The air is cold now, and she welcomes it against her skin which she didn't even realise was on fire. 

For the majority of her life, Lizzie has been alone. She has four sisters so there was never really a moment that she was actually, physically alone, but Lizzie has always known that it was her and no one else that everybody comes to for help, advice, comfort. Jane is so unsure in everything that she does where Lizzie is so confident (usually), so Jane always double checks with Lizzie before doing anything. The rest of her sisters look up to Lizzie, come to Lizzie when they are arguing with their mum. Even her best friend Charlotte expects Lizzie to take the first step in everything the friends do together. It wasn't like Lizzie feels secondary at all. She loves being the first person everyone thinks of. But she just knows she is alone when she needs advice, or support. When she is rarely unsure, she only has herself to reassure her. Perhaps it comes from when she was young. Her mum and dad, so caught up in raising five girls had graciously left Lizzie to herself, thankful for her independence and the respite it offered them.

So for her life, Lizzie has never really felt a need to find another part of herself. Jane has found it in Charles. Lizzie just assumed all of her little pieces were kept with her, not scattered with others. But maybe there are shards of her that Lizzie is yet to find. Why does it feel like she is yet to find something with Darcy?

She stays outside for a few more minutes, feeling the breeze crawl down her spine. When she heads back inside, it's just Jane sat at the dining table. 

"Wanted to check you were alright." Jane shrugs, seeing Lizzie’s questioning state and picking up a scoopful of ice cream and placing it in her mouth, always so delicate. She pushes it towards Lizzie. "Chocolate, your favourite." For that, Lizzie smiles.

"Jane," Lizzie begins when she's sat down, toying with the melting ice cream. "When you met Charles, what did it feel like?"

Jane pauses for a moment, thinking. "Like looking at someone and feeling nervous and so at ease at the same time. All my life I had been so on edge for the wrong reasons. When I met Charles, there was a shift. I was on edge because I was so comfortable with him."

"Did you feel like there was a bit of you missing that you found when you met him?"

"I guess. We just fit together, I suppose. Why do you ask, Lizzie?"

"I don't know." Lizzie answers honestly. "I just never questioned anything, never felt like I was missing something."

"And you do now?" Jane questions her. A part of Lizzie feels like Jane knows something here that even Lizzie doesn't.

"Maybe I'm not as complete as I thought I was."

"You don't need someone to complete you Lizzie. You just need someone to make all the bad times not feel so bad. That's how you'll know you were missing something. When the bad days aren't as bad as they were before." For once in Lizzie's life, Jane is sure of something that she isn't.

The two sisters are silent now, mulling over a change in the dynamic of their sisterhood. They pass the ice cream back and forth, between them.

"I love you, Janie." Lizzie says, when Jane decides to head to bed.

"I love you too, Lizzie." Jane shuts the door behind her.

Lizzie readies herself for bed. She brushes her teeth, her hair, takes off her makeup. When she finally steps into the bedroom, she sees Darcy asleep in the bed. He's lying on his back, his hair mussed up on the pillow. Beside him is a small space on the bed, perfectly Lizzie shaped. It's like the bed is expecting another next to him, and the line of Darcy's figure makes a perfect shape for her to tuck up against him. Heart beating wildly in her chest, Lizzie retreats from the room. She'll sleep with the mosquitoes tonight. She'd take a million bug bites over realising she's missing something, and having to find it in a place she can never ever reach. 


	5. shit off, you shitting shit

When Darcy wakes up the next day, he feels that feeling where your brain is like tv static and your mind scrambles to remember where you are. For Darcy, waking up in any bed away from home isn’t strange seeing as he travels so much, but waking up with the sudden realisation that there should be someone else in the bed with him is jarring to say the least. Not only should there be someone else with him, that person should be Lizzie.

Lizzie! Darcy’s eyes fly to the other side of the bed. Where Lizzie should be is an empty space. The bed seems to stretch for miles now when it seemed so cramped before. 

Darcy sits up, runs a hand through his hair and blinks. Where did Lizzie sleep then? 

Shuffling into the kitchen, Darcy is met with an empty silence. Jane and Charles are both late risers, so this is nothing new. He pours himself a glass of orange juice and tries to work out why he feels a strange burning in his chest, rather like he got punched an hour ago and he’s still feeling the ache in his ribs. 

He steps outside to greet the day, and it’s there he finds Lizzie. She’s asleep on the hammock, blankets twisted about her legs. He can already see loads of bites on her legs. But her long eyelashes flutter against her cheek, which tells Darcy that she isn’t sleeping peacefully. There’s a tinge of redness on her slender nose- she’s gotten sunburnt in the morning sun. She’s got tiny hands that are holding the blankets tightly, and Darcy finds himself wishing she would open her eyes so he can see...

Darcy jolts out of his daydream. He shouldn’t be that bothered that he got to sleep in the bed on his own, but the idea that Lizzie would rather sleep out here than in a room with him was rather offensive, to be quite honest. And he’d already had the expectation that she was going to join him, so waking up in the tiny bed had felt a little bit (dare he even think it) lonely. Darcy scoffs into his orange juice. No. If Lizzie didn’t want to sleep in a bed with him, then that’s her problem and not his.

All of a sudden, there’s a gust of wind, and Lizzie’s small frame is rocking in the wind. Darcy could go and steady the hammock, but he thinks he’d rather watch this play out. Serves her right.

The hammock rocks and suddenly Lizzie is tipped off the side and goes tumbling to the floor. She lets out a shriek, hair in her mouth. She lands in a heap of limbs and cushions. Darcy guffaws, orange juice flying everywhere as Lizzie let’s out a stream of profanities.

”That’s the fucking fifth fucking time that’s shitting happened!” She spots Darcy, lifting a wad of hair from her eyes. “Oh, _perfect!_ Of course _you_ had to be here to top it all off.” 

“A perfect start to my morning.” Darcy comments.

”Oh shit off, you shitting shit. I need a coffee.” And with that she storms off into the house.

Darcy follows her inside, watching her haphazardly throw coffee into a mug with all the care of a woman who has just been woken up by being thrown off a hammock. He says nothing, just watching. She’s so careless but so sure in everything she does, Darcy notes. It’s like she’s done everything before, in a different life.

When Lizzie finally has a steaming cup of coffee in her hands, she turns around and leans on the side of the kitchen counter. “What?” She asks Darcy, eyebrow raised.

”Nothing.” Darcy replies, putting his hands up. Then, changes his mind. “Actually-“

”Here we go.”

”Why did you sleep outside?”

Lizzie is silent, blinking. “I came in late and didn’t want to wake you up.” She answers plainly, after a moment.

Darcy is very good at knowing when people are lying. He saw Wickham’s true character straight away, and can tell whenever Georgie isn’t telling him the truth in true little sister way. 

So when Lizzie can’t meet his eye and takes a sip of her coffee instead, he wonders what the real reason she didn’t want sleep in a bed with him is. He also wonders where the feeling of hurt is coming from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little insight into Darcy’s POV!! Hope you all enjoyed. This was short, but we’ll be back to Lizzie’s thoughts in the next chapter. How much longer will these two remain so bloody oblivious!!!  
> Xxx


	6. great expectations

It’s very easy for Lizzie to take things in her stride. She faces new challenges with an optimistic outlook, always ready to shrug things off and tackle the next obstacle that comes her way.

But she means obstacles metaphorically, and not in the form of a great big jagged rock jutting out in front of her. When she agreed to go on a mid morning hike with Charles, Jane AND Darcy, this isn’t what she had in mind.

”Just put your foot on to that first little indent on the rock, to the left of you.” Charles encourages. Him and Jane have already climbed over the rock that obstructs the steep path on the hill. Why would anyone make a path with a bloody great rock in the middle of it anyway?

Lizzie does as she’s told, pushing the weight of her right leg off the ground and finding another little crack in the wall she can hold on to with her fingers. Her right leg dangles in mid air.

”Now what, Charles?” Lizzie asks through gritted teeth.

”Just push yourself off the rock and grab on to the crack a bit above you. From there you can pull yourself up and over.”

Lizzie expels a breath. Easier said than done. She has about as much upper arm strength as she does ability to hold her tongue. Very little.

She pushes herself up, right foot pressed against the boulder but she can’t quite get her grip on the crack in the rock above her and suddenly she stumbles, falls backwards, lets out a great yelp.

Lizzie expects to find herself on the floor, with a broken neck or at least a fracture of some sort. She expects Darcy to peer over her, sigh, and attempt to help her up in some form as he silently wishes he’d stayed at home. So when she actually finds herself in Darcy’s clutches, with Darcy’s arms wrapped tightly round her waist and Darcy’s face mere inches from her own, she’s obviously a bit surprised.

With this surprise comes a moment of silence, in which Jane and Charles wait to hear the sound of Lizzie hitting the ground and Lizzie and Darcy just _stay,_ just stay locked together. It’s like the whole world is waiting, in that moment, for something to happen, just something, god please, anything. It’s waiting for Darcy to lean down and capture Lizzie’s lips with his own, for Lizzie to meet him with equal passion. The world waits with bated breath. It seems so does Lizzie.

The sound of Charles and Jane scrambling over the rock jolts Lizzie and Darcy our of their trance and Darcy quickly stands Lizzie upright, but not before he traces the exposed skin of the small of her back and makes Lizzie shiver a thousand times over. 

Jane fusses over Lizzie who really, only fell from a height of about 2 feet and didn’t even touch the ground, for christ’s sake. Darcy looks over Lizzie as well, checking she’s unharmed. Lizzie assures everyone she’s perfectly fine, she just slipped, and can they carry on with the walk please and thank you. Lizzie proceeds to the rock and puts her left foot in the little nook once more, but she feels a pair of hands grab her waist and push her upwards with quite ease, until she has a grasp on the top of the rock and shifts over the side. She looks downwards to see Darcy smiling up at her, and Lizzie thinks to herself that she’s never seen a more beautiful sight than that of a smile on Darcy’s face.

When the group have made their way up to the top of their hill, Lizzie thinks to herself that okay, maybe some of it was worth it, because the view is breathtaking. Rolling hills for miles to see and tiny dots of little villages all around. In the near distance, Darcy points out a grand house surrounded by woodland. 

“That’s where my family used to live.” Darcy says plainly.

”In that old thing?” Charles says, squinting.

”Yeah. Pemberley. We used to own it. Still do to be honest, but now we just use it for tourists and stuff.”

”Must have got pretty lonely, living in that big old thing, with no one else around for miles.”

“Maybe. But it’s very easy to be alone and not feel lonely, and very easy to feel lonely and not be alone.” Darcy states, and Lizzie feels like he’s seeing a bit further into herself than anyone has done before. Without even realising it, she raises her hand to meet his, intertwining their fingers and squeezing tight. They don’t even look at each other, just keep staring absentmindedly at the view. But with her hand in Darcy’s, Lizzie doesn’t feel so impossibly lonely anymore. 


	7. ebbing and flowing

The group decide to mull around at the top of the hill for a while, and in true Jane and Charles fashion the pair wander off with only eyes for each other. Lizzie eyes a tree under which she can plonk herself, so she struts off towards before turning around briefly to face Darcy. "Coming?" She asks him. She turns around before he replies, but the way her fingers seem to ache tell her that Darcy is right behind her, following a very recent memory they both share. She sits down, feeling the back of her neck to assess how many strands of hair have escaped out of her hastily pulled together bun. She combs through them and lifts her chin to look at Darcy who is standing above and a few feet away from her. He seems scared to come any closer to her for fear of electrocution or hexing. He's standing directly in front of the sun too, his tall frame expertly blocking out the bright light that would otherwise be blinding Lizzie. The light seeps through a few unruly curls on his head, making the dark brown more of a golden chestnut. He looks like an angel, Lizzie decides. A bonafide angel. If Darcy is an angel, he is Daniel, the watcher. He's watching her now.

"Won't you sit with me Darcy?" Lizzie asks, attempting to poke some hairs back into her bun and squinting as some light escapes behind Darcy's shoulder. This is the man who was clutching at Lizzie's fingers not five minutes ago, the man who needs goading to sit next to the woman who was begging the universe to push his lips on hers not 30 minutes ago. Lizzie questions the -what if- that stands between them, the constant ebbing and flowing of affection and doubt. Lizzie, believe it or not, has doubted a lot in her life. She's so bored of doubting. So she kneels up, grabs Darcy's sleeve and tugs. "Sit," She implores. "It'll hurt my neck having to look up at you."

Lizzie watches the sunlight cascade around her as Darcy kneels down as she does. Now Darcy looks less angelic. She can see the thin line on his foreheads, the beginnings of wrinkles that are forming far too early on. Darcy is always frowning. There's also the beginning of laughter lines too, and she reaches out the smooth the creases on his temple. Her thumb etches a path and Darcy is still, watching. "When did you get these?"

"Believe it or not, I am capable of smiling from time to time." Darcy speaks, dark brown eyes simmering.

"I know." Lizzie says with confidence. "I make you smile. _From time to time_."

“Rare occasions,” Darcy mutters, but a small smile plays on his lips all the same.

Lizzie retracts her hand, suddenly unsure of this unspoken new found closeness between them. She sits back, brings her knees to her chest.

“Do you ever feel out of place?” Darcy asks, out of nowhere. He’s not looking at her, he’s looking at a spot of grass he’s picking at like a shy boy. Lizzie smiles.

“Most my life.” She replies.

Darcy looks up at Lizzie now, and there’s that unspoken-ness again. It seems that half of Darcy and Lizzie’s conversations occur with their eyes.

“Me too.” Darcy says, quietly. “I’m not a very interesting person, I’ve found.”

Lizzie frowns at this. Her and Darcy may not have seen eye to eye for the duration of their acquaintance but she would never dismiss him as uninteresting. In fact, there’s something entirely intriguing about him. Like there’s a whole different person underneath the exterior of solemnity, waiting to be unearthed.

“Well I’ve found,” Lizzie starts, “that there’s been no greater achievement in my life than making you laugh. Boring people don’t have uninteresting laughs. I like your laugh.” _I think I love your laugh._

“I like your laugh too.” _I love your laugh more than anything in the world._

”Jane used to tell me she felt out of place. We used to lie in bed together, when we were younger, and talk about all the ways we would escape and find a true sense of belonging. And she did, I suppose. She belongs with Charles.” Lizzie looks up to the sky as she talks, watching thin strips of clouds disperse as sunlight trickles through them. 

Silence. Darcy watches her watching the clouds.

”I don’t hate her for it, you know?” Lizzie adds quickly, scared of appearing bitter that her sister has found eternal bliss. “But it just feels like I found belonging in not belonging with someone, and now that’s gone.”

”Belonging with someone in a state of not belonging sounds awfully meta.” Darcy then replies.

”I think it’s quite simple, really. Like there’s this little world with a population of two and no one else is allowed in. But obviously sisters grow up. Me and Jane aren’t kids anymore. We became interested in boys, and love, and romance. Being a sister isn’t enough.”

”Don’t remind me.” Darcy lies onto his back. “Georgie turns sixteen next month.” 

“Sweet sixteen! What an age to be a girl. What an age to be in love. Does she have  someone to be in love with?”

Darcy’s older brother instincts kick in. “I bloody well hope not. Sixteen year old boys have one thing and one thing only in mind. And it’s _not_  love.” 

Lizzie laughs, rolling her eyes. “Typical man.” She says whilst joining Darcy in lying on the grass. “It doesn’t even matter who it is. Sixteen is the time to be in love with love.” 

“Then you grow up and fall out of love with love.” Darcy grumbles.

”Perhaps,” Lizzie shrugs, “But I don’t think you have. That’s boring. And we’ve established that you’re not a boring person, Darcy.”

Darcy grins. He turns his head to look at Lizzie, who has her eyes closed under the harsh sun, eyelashes fluttering on freckled cheeks. Lizzie opens her eyes, turns to look at Darcy, and- 

“Guys!” Charles shouts from in front of them. “Shall we get going?” 

Lizzie sits up quickly, Darcy following quickly behind. “Coming!” Lizzie replies, her voice oddly breathless. She turns to look at Darcy, who has an odd mixture of relief and disappointment dancing in his eyes. Affection and doubt. Ebbing and flowing.


End file.
